


Excision and Recuperation

by birderlands



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (I mean they did die but they got better), (nonspecific but significant), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Jonah, Deus Ex Archivist, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/F, Fish, Found Family, Gen, God Jonathan Sims, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Slice of Life, The Magnus Archives Spoilers, bad and naughty men get sent to the abyss, blink-and-you'll-miss-it daisira, canon-typical weirdness, nothing but happy endings all around, people still have supernatural powers but like they're different than in canon, post MAG 160, tim stoker's anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23682079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birderlands/pseuds/birderlands
Summary: Elias Bouchard escapes the clutches of a certain Georgian parasite and starts to recover, while supported by a cast of various ex-monsters and revived Fear God victims. Little slice-of-life ficlet set in a canon-divergent AU where everyone lives because Jon fought the apocalypse and won.OG Elias-centric. Also features okay!Gerry, Tim Stoker wellbeing, and gratuitous loathing for Jonah Magnus. Guest appearances include Bad Fish (TM), lesbians, Jon being stupidly smitten with his boyfriend, and the Delano family's penchant for cute archival assistants.Diverges from canon after season 4/episode 160.
Relationships: Eric Delano/Michael Shelley, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Michael & Helen Richardson, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 13
Kudos: 142





	Excision and Recuperation

* * *

* * *

Elias Bouchard sits perfectly still.

He does nothing else. His hands are cuffed to the chair, his feet to the floor. The rest of him is bound firmly in place. The room is dark, which he knows only because the blindfold doesn’t entirely work, although it’s doing its darnedest. The gag tastes like cheap tie.

A custodian arrives – the nice one, who always smells like stale fire and fresh ammonia. Elias hears tea and food rattling on a metal tray, and is beset by a brief vision of the man: the naturally red hair kept unnaturally and unevenly dark, the ripped t-shirt emblazoned with a complicated metaphor citing chemicals and romance. He looks reliable and careworn, and Elias is almost sorry when the vision flickers out.

“Hello, Gerry,” he rasps, once the stuffing is pulled from his mouth.

“Today’s dinner is soup and bread,” Gerry says, not unkindly. “The twins made casserole, but since I promised the gods we’d keep you alive, I didn’t bring you any of that. I think dad was offended on their behalf.”

Elias hesitates. There’s no longer a point to expressing his gratitude, he has said the words ‘thank you’ so many times that his lips are marked from the shape of them.

“I wish you wouldn’t tell me about the others,” Elias says, instead.

Gerry shrugs, and releases the fastenings of one hand, allowing just enough movement to eat.

“How is he?”

“Conniving,” Elias shrugs. “He wants control of our body back.”

“ _Your_ body.”

“How long until extraction?” Elias asks, trying to sound calm. He dunks the sourdough, savouring the simple salty flavour. Even the cool nothingness of water is a blessing. He’s been a prisoner in his own mind for so long that every sensation is joyous. He’s been freed from the chains of expensive hedonism, almost as acutely as he’s been freed from Jonah Magnus.

“Six days. Procedure’s too complicated for a seraph, so we have to wait for Jon to be back in town.”

Elias nods. Waiting, it seems, is a staple of his existence.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, it’s just... Well, sometimes he lashes out, and I can handle that. I _expect_ that. But sometimes…” and here Elias grimaces in distaste, “…sometimes he fights me just to _lose_. He gets this jolt of pleasure from being overpowered and… I hate it. I hate him.”

He abandons the remainder of the meal, nauseated. To think James Wright lived and _died_ in the clutches of this Georgian parasite.

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says, laying a heavily tattooed hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologise for.”

Elias is plagued by another flash of supernatural Seeing. Gerry is standing before him, looking awkward and uncertain, eyes tracking as he tries to think of something comforting to say. Eric Delano’s boy has too soft a heart, and it’s discomfiting. Elias wholly prefers the other custodian, who is, at all times, one accidental ocular reference from kicking Elias’ head into mush.

“If it makes you feel better, I used to be a book,” Gerry tells him.

* * *

As Elias is marched down the hall, he neatly tucks his shirt into place. Then he changes his mind, and wrenches it skewwhiff. Jonah does the metaphysical equivalent of rolling his eyes and mouthing “ _really_?”.

“This is your third bathroom break of the morning,” the other, meaner custodian says, jostling him along. “What are you planning?”

“To not eat the twins’ meatloaf ever again,” Elias answers, without really thinking, and suddenly he’s slammed up against the wall.

This one is _angry_ , burning down like a candle. He’s had a rough few years. Dying to avenge someone is easy. But having your heroic death reversed is humiliating. And having _their_ death reversed is… well, it leaves a man directionless. But Elias trusts his wrath, and so, it seems, does Jon.

“Tim,” Elias says, “just do it. Hit me. I promise you he’ll feel it.”

He catches a glimpse of Tim Stoker, looming over him. It’s a reassuring sight. Jonah, once an old-fashioned letch who adapted to the trimmings of modern vulgarity with aplomb, refers to Tim as ‘a fifteen-out-of-ten’. But Elias senses the desolation radiating from every inch of Tim’s abnormally-symmetrical face, and feels _safe_. This man won’t let Jonah get away, no matter what.

Tim releases him.

“If the gods are telling the truth, you’re just some random old man,” he sneers. “Not that I trust _them_ , but the seraph agrees.”

Besides his brother, Tim cares for exactly two people: the local seraph, openly. And Gerry, in secret. It’s sweet, certainly, but it means even this rage-addled Adonis has exploitable weaknesses. And Jonah knows them.

“I’m not just _some man_ ,” Elias says. “I’m Elias Bouchard.”

It feels good to say, actually.

* * *

During Gerry’s next visit, Jonah wrests control of their body and stabs him in the shoulder with a fork, snarling “I want an extraction _now_ ”.

It’s a clever play. The outburst is deliberately small and vague, enough that it could have come from Elias himself.

“Why didn’t Jon just kill Jonah immediately?” Jonah asks with their mouth. “Why make me wait with him?”

Elias summons all the mental fortitude he has, and banishes Jonah to an inert corner of their shared mind. Jonah says ‘ooooh’ and Elias lashes out at him, mentally, slapping him into quiescence. The damage, however, has already been done.

Gerry staggers outside, and sends in one of the twins to speak with Elias instead. She sits backwards in a chair, arms draped and dangling, and tries to _counsel_ him.

“Prolonged encounter with an entity changes a person,” she explains. “Killing Jonah immediately would have killed you too.”

“A small price to pay,” Elias reminds her.

“Not to Jon. Look, things won’t ever go back to the way they were before. But life under the new gods will be tolerable. Different, but acceptable. Look at me, I’ve got an identical twin brother who is at least a decade older than me, and unrelated to boot. But our respective existences were so intertwined by the Spiral that we couldn’t have survived without each other. So Jon bound us to each other as twins, so that we’d endure. And Michael’s really growing on me, I don’t know what I’d do without him. Feels like we grew up together, somehow. I got the fashion sense, he got the DILF boyfriend, we both got the good hair.”

“Only the last thing is genetic,” Elias says, a smile pulling at his lips. “Your name is Helen, right?”

“That’s right.”

Helen and Michael, the Distortion vessels, made human again. This world has no gods of hope or indigestion, but it _does_ have one cross little man, marked by every darkness, fuelled by the power of the combined apocalypse and an indignant sense of _fairness_. The god of closing the door, the god of okayness: Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

And then there’s the… _other_ god. The Extinction. Turns out Jonah’s trashy boyfriend was right, for once, and they really _should_ have worried more about it. But the Extinction did not come for humans, it came for the other fourteen entities.

Even Jonah is afraid of the Extinction, after what happened to his beloved Eye. It’s one of the few sentiments that he and Elias actually have in common.

“It’s more than just gaining a family member,” Helen continues, tapping her barely-too-long fingers on the wood. “I’m fundamentally different to the Helen Richardson I was before I met the Spiral. There’s a pernicious sense of chaos inside me. If I don’t find a safe way to express it, it will simply force its way out.”

Elias lifts his head.

“I’m going to keep Seeing things?” he asks, tiredly. “Knowing things? Even after Jonah is gone?”

“A bit, probably. You’ll find an outlet. I wanted ours to be pottery, but apparently art is _Gerry’s_ thing. And if Gerry gets upset, then Eric gets upset, and then Michael gets upset. So, we make food.”

“Very _creative_ food,” Elias says, and then more seriously. “We’re not really the same, Helen.”

“I suppose not. My… my _self_ was corrupted and changed. But yours was replaced entirely. I… I wish I could be of more help.”

“I don’t need help. That little tantrum wasn’t me, Helen.”

“You _might_ need help. You shanked Gerry. Tim is going to be on the warpath.”

“Jonah deserves whatever is coming to him.”

“ _You_ don’t.”

* * *

The local seraph comes by, in preparation for Jon’s visit.

Elias has seen every seraph in the world – courtesy of Jonah’s awful visions – and the group is remarkably homogenous: all human, all women, all marked by at least one fear, and at least a little bit gay. (Apparently, Jon has a _type_ when it comes to trusted helpers). Jonah likes to pontificate on the seraphs at length. _‘That one is called Basira, she’s very calm and sensible until she’s not, you should have seen how angry she got when I wasted her time’_ and ‘ _the celestial glow doesn’t suit Melanie, I bet she’s desperate to kill someone, deep down’_. But even he has no soliloquy for the seraph currently under their roof, and Elias suspects Jonah doesn’t recognise her.

For this reason or some other, Jonah forces an abnormal number of visions of the rooms outside their own. And it’s… actually it’s rather cosy, to see the others going candidly about their lives.

Michael is leaning against the kitchen counter, honey-coloured curls cascading down his back, one arm thrown around Eric Delano’s shoulders.

“So, um, no Gertrude, then?”

“No Gertrude,” their seraph confirms. “She wasn't revived. Apparently there can only be one archivist.”

“Good!” Michael says, too emphatically.

“What are you whinging about? You were her favourite assistant,” Eric says flatly.

“I’m _everyone’s_ favourite assistant.”

“You’re not even my favourite twin,” Helen informs him. The kettle in front of her begins to boil, and spews bright purple foam onto the stove.

Gerry trails in, a stylus in each of his hair buns.

“James,” he says, with a tiny salute.

“Delano,” the seraph says, returning the gesture.

“You don’t have to…” Eric says, uncertainly. “You can keep Keay, Gerry. Your mother’s lineage might come in handy. You know, lend some weight to your university applications.”

“And I’ve told you,” Gerry says, with a tiny smile, “I’m not using _her_ name _._ if you don’t like Delano for me, you’ll have to marry Michael so I can use Shelley.”

Eric and Michael both choke at the same time. It would be cute, were the moment not interrupted by Jonah pointing frenetically inside Elias’ skull.

“It’s her!” he pronounces. “Oh, very clever, Jon. But how did you know what face to give her?”

The seraph goes to an adjacent room, where Tim is perched on the couch, and sits down next to him.

“Tim,” she says, affectionately.

“Sash-a,” he replies brightly, and puts his head on her shoulder. “How are things?”

“Really great. I love being able to tidy up supernatural shenanigans so… directly.”

The seraph – Sasha – waves her hand through the air, leaving a lingering glowy aura in its wake.

“I can’t believe after everything that’s happened, you’re still working for Jon,” Tim says, his happiness fading before it had even fully manifested.

“What can I say? The position has some very desirable perks.”

“Such as not being dead.”

“That, and not being forgotten.”

“That _is_ a good one,” Tim concedes.

They smile wordlessly at each other for a moment.

“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Tim says, eventually.

“It is for Elias.”

“If the gods are really sealing Jumbo Mandrake for good, it’s a big day for a lot of people,” Tim says. “Big day for the world.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally learned his name,” Sasha says, propping her chin up with one hand.

Her face is a strange thing to behold. She is undeniably the original Sasha James, and seeing her visage brings back a flood of memories with aching certainty. _Of course that’s what she looked like. How did anyone ever fail to remember?_ But at the same time, it isn’t the _same_ face. It’s a reconstruction. An identikit. Someone with no artistic or illustrative ability tried to rebuild Sasha’s visage from a single visual memory, and that’s how she is now.

“You’re not really here to prepare for tomorrow, though,” Tim says, shifting upright and away. “There’s nothing for you to _do_. You’re here to check on me, just like always.”

Sasha huffs a sigh, and it sparkles briefly in the air.

“You’re one of my best friends, Tim,” she says.

“I am? Or I was? A lot has changed.”

Sasha moves to reply, and Tim cuts her off.

“You know what, I don’t _care_. You’re alive and I know who you are, and honestly, you can go ahead and _hate_ me as long as I have those two things. But tell me the truth; you keep checking on me because someone else asked you to, don’t you?”

Sasha twirls a lock of long hair around her finger.

“Yes,” she says, finally.

Tim laughs bitterly.

“Is the someone Jon?”

In the silence that follows, Tim grows visibly frustrated.

“Wait, it _is_ Jon, right? It’s not Martin, is it? Because I _see_ Martin every other week at the café for tea, so if _he_ thinks I need monitoring he can bloody well do it himself.”

“It’s Danny,” Sasha says bluntly. “He’s worried about you.”

Tim’s face contorts in surprise and shame and a little bit of relief.

“I’m going to talk to him, Sasha. Soon. I’m just not ready yet.”

“I know. He knows.”

They exchange a long, sad look.

“Atrocious,” Jonah comments, flouncing around Elias’ brain. “The problem with omniscience is that one is subject to brain-rotting conversations like this.”

 _Shut up_ , Elias thinks, _or I’ll have Sasha feed you to the Extinction_.

“I don’t think the Extinction eats people, Elias. Although I suppose you could try,” Jonah’s tone grows speculative. “He’s handsome enough. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

Jonah masks his unease behind mountains of bravado, but he goes still all the same.

“Just as long as _you_ know that, until you’re ready, you’re going to have an angel all up in your business,” Sasha tells Tim.

“Oh, so you’re an angel now.”

“Duh.”

“Where are your wings?”

“Safe deposit box. Can’t be too careful.”

Tim laughs, and Elias decides he likes Sasha very much.

* * *

Jonathan Sims doesn’t _look_ like a deity. He’s a slight little man with thickly-rimmed glasses, flowing clothes, a permanent scowl, and long shiny hair. He gives the impression of an unhappily lost mermaid, perhaps, but certainly not of an all-powerful god. And the woman that accompanies him doesn’t fit the heavenly image of a seraph; her teeth are a little too long for that, her eyes a little too hungry.

“I need to tell you something,” Elias begins, and the seraph cuts him off with a glare.

“No talking,” she says, curtly.

Jon pushes a hand through his fringe and lets it trail down his cheek.

“Let him speak, Daisy.”

“If you do, you’ll probably hear from our Elias. Evil Elias.”

“Jonah.”

“Whatever. You _don’t_ need to hear from him. See, this is why I insisted on coming along.”

“No, this is why I nearly left you behind,” Jon corrects, and they sound like the twins, brother-and-sister arguing together. At odds, but on the same side.

“It’s _about_ Jonah, actually,” Elias says, utterly unhelpfully, since every aspect of his life has revolved around Jonah Magnus for the past few decades. “Listen, if I tell you that you’re hurting me, if I beg you to stop, if I say I’m scared that I might die as a casualty of neutralising Jonah… if I say anything like that, you can rest assured that is _Jonah_ talking. Because I don’t care what happens to me. Just get rid of him.”

“We will,” Daisy says, sounding a smidge impressed.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Jon says, with both gravity and relish. Elias wonders how he must feel. Jon spent years struggling uselessly against impossibly powerful enemies, failing over and over, losing people again and again. And then the apocalypse arrived and Jon inverted it through sheer bloody-mindedness. And he turned himself into something that can right every wrong he’s witnessed. He can _fix_ the damage done by the entities; _all_ of it.

The Extinction killed the fears, and the Archivist – with all his files on _should_ _be_ and _should not be_ – mended the holes they tore in the universe. How must that feel? Empowering? Ghastly?

The apocalypse itself had been nightmarish, Elias knows that for sure. There was something about watching fourteen eldritch terrors manifest in synchrony only to _scald_. Elias passed out halfway through. Even Jonah was traumatised afterwards.

“Were you afraid?” Elias asks Jon, apropos of nothing. “When you saw the extinction event up close, did you…”

He hesitates, mostly because Daisy is making slashing gestures with her hand across her throat, and pointing at the back of Jon’s head.

“Did you have something to say?” Jon prompts, his kindly demeanor vanishing into something irritated and defensive.

“Uh…”

Daisy is shaking her head dramatically now, sending a shower of seraph-sparkles into the air around her.

“Did you have something to say,” Jon repeats, every word dangerously weighted, “about the Extinction?”

Elias decides to take Daisy’s advice.

“Nope,” he says, quickly. “That was Jonah, sorry.”

Daisy gives him a thumbs up, a surprising ally in whatever conversational minefield Elias has stumbled into, and Jon goes back to normal.

“I see,” he says. “I- I’m sorry Elias, I don’t really know you at all.” Jon gives a little laugh and pushes some hair away from his face. “Except that you’re a stoner with tremendous misfortune.”

“Those _are_ my two main traits,” Elias agrees.

Jon smiles crookedly, and releases the bindings. Elias tries to stamp some feeling into his feet, preparing for whatever travel is coming next.

“Tell me something else about you,” Jon urges. “Er, if you want. I’m not compelling you.”

“Oh,” Elias says, scrabbling at the scraps of personality he has left. “I, er. I like fish?”

“Fish, huh?”

“Yes! I was planning to set up a little aquarium, just a few tanks in the living room, before I got… before Jonah.”

Jon and Daisy exchange a significant look.

“If you like fish, you’re gonna _love_ where we’re going,” Daisy informs him. “Come on. Let’s get this parasite out of you.”

* * *

Elias watches, with no blindfold to protect him, as a creature the exact shape of a watering can tries to devour a smaller creature made entirely of teeth.

“These are _bad_ fish,” he announces aloud.

Gerry pauses his sketching long enough to nod agreement.

“Are you sure we’re not looking at some secret remnants of the Flesh?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” Jon replies, gesturing to the otherworldly oceanscape beyond their protective bubble. “This is what aquatic life is supposed to look like once you get this far down.”

“And _what_ are we doing down here?” Tim asks, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Banishing Jonah,” Elias reminds him. “He’s worried, by the way. He thought you’d put him in the Panopticon, for the poetic justice of it all. He didn’t plan for this.”

“Looking for Martin,” Jon replies, a different answer to the same question. “He’s supposed to be meeting us next to the wreck. Martin? Mar _tin!_ ”

“Cool,” Gerry says, hands shaking as he draws. “So we’re at the bottom of an oceanic trench, to meet with the Extinction. Very safe.”

Tim reaches over, snatches the pencil from his fingers, and throws it across the sand.

“Martin is my friend, nerd,” he chides. “And he’s not _dangerous_. One time he cried because he saw a very fluffy dog. He didn’t choose his role in this any more than you did.”

“He _boiled_ the fourtee—”

“And if he hadn’t, I’d still be a corpse, _you’d_ still be a weird book, and this ocean would be full of evil clowns instead of ugly fish. Leave him alone.”

“Martin!” Jon says, finding and wrapping himself around a soft-looking man with floppy dark hair. “Is everything all right?”

Martin takes Jon’s face in his hands.

“Everything’s fine, Jon. It’s only been two hours since I last saw you.”

“That’s long enough.”

“Yes, it is.”

Martin picks Jon up in an embrace, and Jon kisses him at length. Elias turns his attention back to the argument beside him.

“I’m not a nerd, you know,” Gerry informs Tim. “I’m a goth.”

“Emo, punk, whatever,” Tim says. He’s retrieved the pencil, and is holding it above his head, just out of Gerry’s reach.

“Not emo, not punk, not whatever.”

“They’re all nerds.”

“They’re not, but I wouldn’t expect a prep like you to know any better.”

“Oh, you did _not_ just call me a prep. Now you’ve gone _too far_.”

Outside, a very big fish propelled by very small fins runs headlong into a horse-sized crab. Elias groans. He’s too sober to be dealing with this.

“What can you tell me about this place?” he asks Daisy. “I know we shouldn’t be able to survive down here at all. The pressure should crush us immediately. But there’s light and warmth and air inside this bubble. And I swear, when I touched the old shipwreck the wood was bone-dry.”

“It’s a prison,” Daisy says, simply. “An impossible, inescapable prison. Just another of Jon’s miracles, really. The wreck is for shelter. It’s got plumbing and a bed and the rations will never run out. It’s better than he deserves.”

It certainly is.

Jon says “it’s time”, and Gerry and Tim cease their impromptu and unnecessarily homoerotic wrestling match. Daisy drags Elias across the sand, to Jon’s outstretched hand, and Elias is pleased at the way Jonah tries to dig in his heels.

“Remember what I told you,” Elias tells them. “If it’s both or neither, I need you to kill us both.”

Jon touches him, palm-to-forehead, and closes his eyes. Contact with a god is soothing, reassuring even for a man who has the very devil inside of him.

“I’ve got you,” Jon says, and then he reaches through Elias’ mind like a knife through water.

* * *

For a minute, Elias is certain that he is dead. His mind is too peaceful, overly still. When he opens his eyes, he expects to see the grim reaper, or his ghostly soul leaving his own discarded corpse, or perhaps the inside of a skin-book. But no, Elias is himself, warm and alive, and being helped to his feet by a concerned-looking Gerry.

It… worked? He’s free?

He’s free!

“Are you going to kill me, Jon?” someone asks, and given the snootiness of his tone and the utter extravagance of his outfit, Elias knows he must be Jonah Magnus. He’s been dragged out of Elias and sealed into a middle-aged version of his original body. “Do you really think I can be killed?”

“Yes,” Martin replies, without hesitation.

Jonah makes a face of contempt.

“Fine. Do you think I can be killed by anyone _other than Martin_?”

It’s not a threat, it’s a plea. Jonah is afraid to spend eternity down here, without escape. He’s afraid of being trapped the way he trapped James and Elias and so many others.

“Only one way to find out,” Daisy says, simply, and reaches for her hip. But her hand comes away empty, and her brow furrows. And Jonah raises his arm to reveal that he is the one with Daisy’s gun.

“Grabbed this on my way out,” he says, smugly, and points it at Elias. “Let’s make a deal, Jon.”

“We’re not making deals with you,” Martin says.

“You sure? Because your darling Archivist really doesn’t want me to hurt this man any more than is necessary. I don’t think he’d forgive himself if I killed sweet, innocent Elias because he was too stubborn to negotiate.”

“You’re about to be entombed at the bottom of the ocean,” Gerry says, baffled. “What do you possibly think you’re going to get out of this?”

“My demands are simple. Elias stays. You can make him immortal, or impervious to harm, or whatever you want. But he _stays with me_. I won’t allow you to leave me down here alone.” Jonah turns to Elias, smirking. “We get on, don’t we, Eli? I made you great. You’re used to me. And if you and I are locked up together, you can be sure that the rest of the world is safe from me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I know it is.”

Elias presses his hands to his ears. His inner world is so beautifully quiet without the sound of Jonah’s poisonous nattering. He could listen to this quiet forever. 

“I’ll do it,” he croaks, hating himself for willingly diving into this hell again. “Jon, leave me here. I’ll—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Jon says. He curls his scarred right hand into a fist, then lets it fall open. A small pile of ammunition slips from his fingers and scatters across the ground. “Some sleight of hand for you, Jonah. The bullets from your gun.”

Jonah snarls, and pulls the trigger several times. Nothing happens. Jonah curses and Daisy grabs him and ties him to a heavy, chair-shaped piece of debris that she’d probably retrieved for this exact purpose.

“You alright, old man?” Tim asks Elias. Gerry smooths some of his hair back into place, a blatant insult from a man whose own locks are so poorly maintained. Elias is struck by the realisation that these people, at least, might notice if his eyes suddenly changed in shape and colour.

And just like that, it’s over.

Jonah grows more and more unhinged as they prepare to leave.

“Jon. _Jon_. You’re not really going to leave me down here to rot on my own, are you? Alone, for eternity.”

Jon looks at Martin and shrugs.

“That’s pretty much exactly what we’re going to do,” Martin says.

“This isn’t _you_ , Jon. If you do this, I—I—I’ll get worse. I’ll raise up the fears again on my own. I’m capable; ask Elias, he knows how much of a monster I can be. He’s _seen_ me.”

Jon doesn’t answer directly. Instead he quirks his head and says:

“Did you know that the perimeter of this bubble is a type of celestial cement?. As soon as I leave, it will set firm. No-one will be able to enter or leave ever again. Even _I_ couldn’t visit you, should I ever want to.”

Jonah sort of wails through his teeth, and looks right at Elias, eyes begging.

“Goodbye,” Jon says calmly, and in a flash, they are all transported back to the shore.

* * *

Elias Bouchard stretches out on his bed, limbs relaxed, head blissfully empty. The sheets are reassuring against his skin, and even Michael’s lime-flavoured cookies taste acceptable when he reaches for one.

He’s still not much of a person, though. The others are trying to help. Gerry took Elias’ enduringly blank bedroom walls as an invitation, and papered every surface with vibrant paintings of fish. Good, _proper_ fish, with bright colours, and the correct number of eyes. Helen, for her part, kindly gifted Elias with half of her wardrobe. Now he owns dozens of outfits in various shades of psychedelic office chic. Even Tim is being gently polite, and that’s a _lot_ , given everything this face has done to him over the years.

But integrating into society is not as simple as Elias would like. There’s a Magnus-shaped hole inside of him (and, oh, what a relief that he can parse his thoughts with such clumsy and risqué phrasing without fear of Jonah’s lewd remarks), and the trauma of body-snatching has marked him as soundly as any fear god. Elias has felt and done and seen things that nobody should have to endure, but also that nobody else _has_ endured.

He is isolated still, and perhaps he always will be.

This sobering train of thought is cut short by an unexpected visit from Martin, of all people.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, when Elias flinches. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Elias says. “But…”

“But?”

Martin sets a mug of tea down next to the cookies, and sits on the edge of the bed. Elias scoots over to give him more room. He suspects should rise to his feet – or at least sit up – in the presence of a god, but listlessness consumes him. He hopes Martin understands.

“I’ve never really been close to anyone,” Elias explains. “My life – my _free_ life – was this string of superficial and transactional relationships. There’s only been one person I’ve truly, deeply known, and I just left him to spend eternity in a prison at the bottom of the ocean.”

“I see.”

If that’s an Eye pun, then it’s an unrecognisable one, because Tim doesn’t immediately manifest in the room and start punching things. Although he’s doing better these days, _really_ he is.

“I know he deserved it, but he… we left him bound and handcuffed to a chair, Martin. He’s going to starve. For all eternity.”

“Perhaps,” Martin says, grudgingly. “Perhaps he _will_ starve. But that decision is out of our hands.”

“But we literally—”

Martin touches Elias’ arm, gently forbidding any further argument.

“You’ve got some residual Sight, don’t you?” he asks lightly. “From your entanglement with Jonah.”

“I think so, but I try not to use it. Reminds me of him.”

“Maybe you should try to See him sometime, when you’re ready. You know, you can check if he’s still relatively human, judge how much he’s suffering. It might put your mind at ease.”

Elias is promptly accosted with a long-forgotten memory, a lazy college afternoon when he’d gotten so high that he’d chewed his way clean through a length of rope, just to prove he could. Suddenly, he feels much better.

“Maybe I will,” he tells Martin, and raises the half-eaten cookie like he’s making a toast.

* * *

Tim introduces Elias to Sasha with inordinate pride, as if he were personally responsible for birthing and/or sanctifying her.

“How did you handle it?” Elias asks. “How do you deal with the fact that you were replaced and _nobody noticed._ ”

Sasha smiles broadly and adjusts her shimmering glasses.

“You have to get right back in the saddle,” she says knowingly. “Get a job, find old friends, learn new skills, and stay busy. As long as you keep existing and thinking your thoughts, everything else will snap into place like elastic.”

Elias grips the edge of the coffee table, and forces a smile.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and again.

“Any time!”

 _I’ll set up a tank_ , Elias thinks, trying to offset the dread that threatens to overwhelm him. _A heater, a filter, thirty gallons of water, and a little school of Danios._

“Or you could give him some _useful_ advice now,” Gerry says. He tries to enter the room, and is promptly blocked by Tim. “Move, prep.”

“Not happening, nerd.”

“What do you mean?” Sasha asks, lifting her head. “What was wrong with my advice.”

Gerry starts counting on his fingers.

“Elias doesn’t have old friends, his one job was given to him by his abuser, he’s been a prisoner for decades and probably can’t _learn new skills_ on a dime. Need me to go on?”

Sasha presses a hand to her mouth, and looks at Elias with new understanding. The poignancy of the moment is slightly marred by Gerry trying to climb _over_ Tim, and Tim only half-trying to stop him.

“That’s right,” Sasha says, slowly. “You and I, we’re not alike at all, are we?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You want to come work for Jon?”

This prompts a fresh outburst from Tim.

“Why is _that_ your solution to everything?” he complains, waving his arms. “ _Ow_ , Gerry, mind the elbows. And why are you so light? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“I burn a lot of calories navigating the jerks who live in my house,” Gerry says. He finishes scaling Tim and tries to walk toward Elias, only to be pulled back against Tim’s chest.

“Well, now that you’ve insulted me, I can’t let you cross the threshold.” Tim says.

“One day, I’m gonna dye your hair black while you’re sleeping.”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t even dye _your_ hair black while you’re _awake_.”

Elias turns away from their shenanigans, focusing on the seraph sitting across from him.

“I don’t want to work for Jon,” he tells her. “Or Martin.”

“Oh, that’s actually good. Wanting to work for the Extinction is a bit of a red flag.”

“I don’t know _what_ I want,” Elias admits.

“Hm,” Sasha says, steepling her fingers. “Okay. There’s an acquaintance of mine I want you to meet. Let’s schedule another visit in one week, same time, same place.”

“Not the girl with the knives?” Elias asks, carefully. “I know she’s supposed to be a paragon of emotional healing, but I think she might shank me on pure reflex.”

“No, not Melanie. Someone who’ll understand what you’re going through.”

“Okay,” Elias says, though deep down, he doubts it.

* * *

That night, he tries to sleep, and is instead assaulted by Jonah’s awful voice.

“Four days. You left me tied to a chair for _four days_!”

Elias snaps out of the vision with a yelp, which is enough to summon Michael. The man materialises in the doorway just a little faster than is humanly possible – a hangover from his own supernatural entwinements – clutching water and painkillers and spare blankets.

“Are you hurt?” he demands. “Elias? Are you okay?”

Elias passes a hand over his face, trying to scrub away the embarrassment.

“I didn’t fall, Michael. I’m fine.”

“Oh, um, right. Was it… did you have one of your visions?”

Elias pulls his knees up to his chest.

“I saw Jonah,” he says quietly. “And he knew. He _spoke_ to me.”

“Oh,” Michael says. He looks down and frowns at the items in his hands, as if he doesn’t know why he brought them. “Is he still talking to you? Right now?”

“I don’t know, I’ve lost contact.”

Michael pads into the room, and crouches down next to his bed.

“It took me a while,” he says slowly, “to get doors right. I kept, um… coming into rooms upside down. Or sideways, sometimes. My sister didn’t have that problem. I think it’s because of her occupation. Real estate agents are door experts, sort of.”

Elias smiles at the earnest concern on his face. Michael has a caretaking streak in him a mile wide, but he’s been reserved and cautious since Gertrude burnt him. It’s rare to see him open up to someone who isn’t his sister or his boyfriend. Elias ruffles his curls.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Want me to stay here until you go to sleep? That way I could, um, shake you out of any visions.”

“I’m going to aim for visions, actually,” Elias tells him. “I think Martin was right. I think if I can See Jonah properly, I’ll feel better.”

“A short-term connection to dissolve a long-term connection,” Michael says, sounding more guarded now. “A paradox. I like it. Good luck.”

He leaves. Elias pulls the blanket up to his chin, and tries to coax his nebulous power into cooperating. This time he passes through several different visions before he arrives at his destination.

First, Elias sees Jon and his seraphs, gathered in a surprisingly normal-looking office.

> “She’s asked to join your ranks,” Jon says. “Basira, what do you think?”
> 
> “You already know what I think. Agnes has been human for all of a few months; she can wait a little longer. You get carried away when you’re dealing with ex-avatars.”
> 
> “I _don’t_ get carri—”
> 
> “You literally resurrected one of our enemies!”
> 
> “That was once, and I apologised for it. Profusely. Besides, it all worked out in the end.”
> 
> “Still proves my point. You get overly generous with ex-avs, people you know, and people you feel responsible for.”
> 
> “I’m responsible for everyone! And I’m already inhuman, I can’t _afford_ to be inhumane.”
> 
> “You’re not responsible for everyone,” Daisy’s voice cuts in. “You have us. The responsibility is shared.”
> 
> “Oh, right. Yes. Yes, it is.”
> 
> Jon smiles to himself for a moment
> 
> “Could you imagine what the world would be like if Daisy reversed all _her_ murders?” Basira says, like she’s delivering a winning counterpoint in a debate.
> 
> “Overpopulation,” Daisy replies, leaning over Jon to kiss her.

The scene shifts, to an unremarkable two-person flat, just a few blocks away.

> Rosie takes down her hair as she traverses the hall. For a moment she hesitates at the halfway point, her celestial glow particularly obvious in the dim light. Then she sticks her head into the nearest bedroom.
> 
> “Have you eaten today, roomie?” she asks. “I left you a salad in the fridge.”
> 
> Her roommate is facedown and motionless, as if he’s trying to become one with the mattress.
> 
> “I’m sleeping,” he tells her blearily. He’s nearly as handsome as Tim, and apparently equally personable. “The doctors said I could sleep as long as I wanted.”
> 
> “The doctors _also_ said you have to get up and eat every twelve hours,” Rosie reminds him. “Otherwise you’ll get shrivelled muscles. Do you want shrivelled muscles? Because _I_ won’t be lugging your useless body around. I’ve got much better things to do with my supernatural strength.”
> 
> “Good _night_ , Rosie.”
> 
> Rosie lingers for a moment, smiling fondly.
> 
> “Goodnight, Oliver. Sweet dreams.”
> 
> He raises his head and grins fiercely.
> 
> “I don’t have dreams anymore.”

The scene shifts again, and Elias finds himself underground, in the corpse of Jonah’s dreadful tunnels.

> “It’s just _weird_ , you know,” says a woman he instantly recognises as popular youtuber Georgie Barker. She turns her torch to the wall and then the floor, illuminating half a dozen beetles and one completely normal worm.
> 
> “It’s not weird,” the other woman says. “I _told_ you if you went to the shelter you would come home with more cats. It’s not rocket science. And the Admiral will get over his jealousy in time.”
> 
> “Not that, Melanie,” Georgie sighs. “I was talking about the other thing. The Extinction. I’ve met Martin Blackwood, and he seemed so soft. How did he turn into a god of… of obliteration.”
> 
> “That’s easy,” Melanie says, swinging her own torch in rapid, unhelpful arcs. “I mean, it makes a sort of sense, doesn’t it?”
> 
> “How does _that_ make sense?”
> 
> “Well, love without protection is meaningless, isn’t it? If you really love something, you’ve got to be willing to destroy what threatens it.”
> 
> “Is this about the time I killed that spider? Because I did _not_ overreact, it was _very_ close to the Admiral.”
> 
> “It’s not, but… same principle.”
> 
> Georgie considers this for a moment.
> 
> “So Martin is like, the embodiment of love.”
> 
> Melanie holds up her hands.
> 
> “Look, I don’t even like the guy, but yeah. A bit.”
> 
> “Huh.”
> 
> They explore in silence for a while, hands clasped together tightly.
> 
> “Oh, look. This is where we filmed our first video together. Riiight… here!”
> 
> “Yes,” Melanie says. “That’s why I wanted to visit this place, actually.” And she reaches into her jacket for the tiny, cube-shaped box that’s stashed there.

The vision shifts, one last time. Elias sees the bottom of the sea, and a dozen fish only slightly less ugly than the man before them.

> “Four days!” Jonah says again. He’s gotten free, somehow, and Elias is suddenly afraid that he’s going to escape the bubble altogether, that he’s going to arrive here, and demand his answers face-to-face.
> 
> _I’m sorry_ , Elias thinks, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. _I couldn’t… I should have—_
> 
> “Look, I didn’t know you were here.”
> 
> Elias frowns. That’s not what he said, and that’s… not his voice.
> 
> “I’ve been _screaming._ For _ninety-six hours._ ”
> 
> “I was in the wreck, with my fingers in my ears.”
> 
> “For gods’ sake, _why_?”
> 
> “Well, Martin told me to wait in there until they’d gone, and then I stayed put because I thought it would be crowded out here.”
> 
> _Oh,_ Elias thinks, as the prison’s other occupant finally comes into focus. _It’s the trashy boyfriend. I thought his head got exploded? I guess Jon must have reversed that._
> 
> Jonah picks up the debris-chair and winds up like a pitcher, as if he means to throw it. Peter Lukas, rich ditzy bastard and trashy boyfriend extraordinaire, doesn’t react.
> 
> “ _Really_ , Peter. You thought the bottom of the ocean would be crowded?”
> 
> “I thought this place was designed to punish me,” Peter explains, turning his icy gaze to the abyss outside the bubble. “So, yes.”
> 
> “You’re not that important,” Jonah says, maliciously grand. “The bubble was created for _me_. Everything in here is for me. Jon was so frightened of me that he built a survivable habitat in the most inhospitable part on the planet. _You_ … you’re just enrichment.”
> 
> Peter quirks his head and smiles.
> 
> “So I was revived and placed here just to occupy you?”
> 
> He sounds strangely happy about this prospect.
> 
> “ _Yes_!” Jonah says viciously. He sets the chair down again, triumphant. And then he holds Peter’s gaze for a moment, his expression mapping the journey from rage to relief to heat. The bioluminescent light makes both men look pale and ethereal, like the ghosts they should be. Peter closes the distance between them, unhurried, and pushes his forehead against Jonah’s.
> 
> “How long did it take you to notice I was gone?” he asks.
> 
> “Yesterday,” Jonah says, twisting his fingers into the material at either side of Peter’s coat and pulling taut. “I noticed yesterday.”
> 
> Peter huffs, which is the closest he ever gets to laughing. Jonah kisses his mouth, his face, his throat, and Peter melts into the touch and embraces Jonah tightly.

Elias claps his hands over his eyes, and manages to convince his mind to sever the connection before things get too steamy. He’s seen enough of Jonah and Peter to last him several lifetimes. As the vision fades, Elias gets the distinct feeling that he won’t be Seeing either of them again.

Huh. Maybe he’s finally starting to get control over his powers?

* * *

“Ugh, I _hate_ having a dad,” Gerry says. “I can’t handle the constant stream of criticism. ‘Gerry, you need to floss twice a day’. ‘Gerry, you should be working on your portfolio’. ‘Gerry, stop proposing to my boyfriend for me’. I’m going to have to change my name again, I’m sick of hearing this one.”

“Are you taking suggestions?” Tim asks him, voice dripping with sincerity. “Because I’ve got a great new name for you.”

“Is this name spelled N-E-R-D?”

“Nope. S-T-U-P-I-D.”

Elias carefully pieces together everything he knows about Gerard Delano, into a single winning suggestion.

“How about Disco?” he says earnestly. “Disco… Panic.”

Tim laughs so hard he has to support himself against the wall. Gerry pats Elias on the shoulder, and says

“I really appreciate the effort you’re making right now, but you’re wrong on about five different levels, and I need you to never say that to me again.”

Elias cringes inwardly. Tim stops laughing only to start all over again. Gerry pushes at him, irritated, and Tim captures one of his hands and kisses it.

“If you could pause the antics for a minute,” Sasha says, voice level, “I have an appointment with Mr Bouchard.”

Elias grins at this phrasing. It’s been a long time since anyone wanted or kept an appointment with the real him.

He follows the seraph out to the courtyard. There’s an unfamiliar man sitting on the bench. He has a round face, deep blue eyes, and short dark hair shot through with grey. He keeps glancing at his surroundings nervously, as though he expects that something threatening might emerge from the potted plants at any moment.

“This is the acquaintance I was telling you about,” Sasha says. “He runs a monthly support group for body-snatching survivors.”

Elias opens his mouth to say that this is going to be a waste of time. To confess that he’s never really _been_ a fully realised person, and he’s not about to start now. That he has no beloved past life to reprise, and he spends most of his time staring into space, admiring the emptiness of his own mind, and _does that sound like someone who can recover_?

The stranger gets up from the bench, and offers Elias his hand.

“I’m Graham Folger,” he says, like he’s introducing himself at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. “I was dull before I got replaced, and I’m even duller now. When I’m stressed I like to write nonsense. When I’m _very_ stressed I eat paper.”

Elias is so shocked that he lets his hand flop limply to his side.

“Oh,” he says numbly.

“You thought it was just you, right?” Graham says.

“Yes.”

“Everybody does,” Graham tells him, a revelation, and smiles as bright as the moon.

* * *

* * *

fin

**Author's Note:**

> brought to you by my inexplicable and profoundly stupid desire to have the TMA ending resemble that of the madoka magica anime. the working title was literally "godoka!Jon fic". i'm very sorry about this but my brain is very small so what can you do?
> 
> thank you for reading. i hope you're all doing okay during these difficult times. <3


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